Words I Couldn't Say
by AstrophobicChick
Summary: Three years later, and Sherlock has one more of Moriarty's men to get. Unfortunately for him the person in question is a lot closer to home then he would of liked. Johnlock! AU.
1. Chapter 1

A/n: My first Sherlock fic.

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Three years.

Three years since Sherlock fell. Still, to John, it felt like yesterday. He could still see the look of desperation on Sherlock's face before he fell. It didn't help matters that he also drempt about the fall, over and over. Each dream was as painful as the last. Yet here he was, still alive and still coping. Just.

John was currently sat at Sherlock's grave, flowers in hand, and at the precise time of 5 o clock. Every day, at 5 o clock on the dot, John would bring flowers to Sherlock's grave, and there he would stay for an hour or more just talking to the onyx headstone.

Today he had bought tulips, bright purples ones. Sherlock's grave was beginning to look like a flower shop, all different colours and textures, but that's how John wanted it. He wanted Sherlock's grave to stand out the same way that Sherlock himself stood out.

It was a warm summers day, but the cloudless blue sky and tweeting birds did nothing to improve John's mood. He could hear people talking in the distance, but didn't raise his eyes to see them. No one else mattered in this graveyard, no one except Sherlock.

John laid the flowers down in between some roses and sat back to one side. He liked it here, it helped him clear his head and he didn't feel as alone. This was the only reason he'd survived the past three years - he felt that it was his duty to keep Sherlock's grave as perfect as possible. No one bothered and no one else visited.

"Three years," John said aloud, "And I still haven't come to grips with the fact that you're not coming back. I was alone before I met you, and I'm alone now. More so infact."

He broke off, his throat becoming thick.

"It's stupid," he started again, "Everyone else has moved on. Got over you. Everyone except me - I should move on, god I really should. I should remember you but carry on with life"

"Yes, you should"

John recongized that voice straight away. How could he not? It haunted his dreams every night, and yet here it was. Was he hallucinating? Were the sleepness nights and regular nightmares causing him to now hear voices? John didn't dare turn round, for fear of what he might see.

Instead he slowly got up - relying on his cane once again - and made for the exit. Without meaning to, he cast a quick glance back at the grave but was suprised to see no one there. What did he expect really? To see Sherlock's ghost floating over it, or perhaps the man himself, alive and well?

He took a deep breath and left.

* * *

"Why did you do it?"

Molly was sat in her flat, staring at the stranger who was currently pacing up and down her living room.

"I had to see him" came the reply.

Molly rolled her eyes slightly, earning herself a glare from the stranger. Although he wasn't really a stranger to her, she had worked with him for years. Yet she still didn't class Sherlock as a _friend _for he simply didn't have them. Except for John of course, but he was a completely different matter all together.

"When are you coming back?" Molly asked, looking Sherlock up and down. He hadn't changed much - same curly black hair, same slim figure. Except this time he didn't have his coat - and without it he didn't look as intimidating.

"Not yet, still one more person to find" Sherlock replied, still pacing.

"So, why did you risk it to see John?"

Sherlock stopped pacing and turned to glare at her, causing her to flinch slightly.

"I wanted to see how well he was coping"

"Not very well. But I could of told you that. You didn't need to risk anything"

Sherlock snorted, "I wanted to see for myself. You are not very good at reading people, Molly. I needed to see John with my own eyes"

"And what did you deduce?" Molly asked, she had seen John herself quite a few times over the years, and he seemed to slowly get worse as time wore on.

"He's not coping at all! I thought he would move on quickly - just like the others did - but noo! He even has that bloody cane back"

"Sherlock, you were his best friend. You don't just _get over _something like that." Molly said quietly.

"Hmmm"

"He misses you. He hasn't been back in that flat since - well since the day it happened. He's currently in some run down area of London."

Sherlock narrowed his eyes, "Why? I left him some money specifically for rent."

"He doesn't want it. Said it was yours and should go to your family. He was just a _friend _he doesn't think he deserves anything from you" Molly shrugged, getting up to turn the kettle on.

"He always was stubborn," Sherlock sighed, "when Mycroft offered him money to spy on me he refused it. Idiot"

"So, where's this guy you're after? Where are you meant to be staying?"

Sherlock studied her for a while, as though wondering whether or not to tell her the truth.

"Glasgow"

"Oh, Scotland - nice, I once went there with my father.. before he died obviously" Molly said quickly.

"Hmm, Don't make small talk, Molly. It doesn't suit you. I need to go - got to get back. Keep an eye on John." he stopped, and his expression softened slightly. "Please"

Molly nodded, giving him a faint smile. "I will. Don't worry about John"

Satisfied, Sherlock made for the door, before stopping and turning around. He watched Molly for a bit, and then gave her a slight smile.

"Thank you - for everything"

And with that he was gone.

* * *

John fumbled with his keys and let himself into the flat. It wasn't at all like 221b, what with the damp patches in the corner and the neighbours upstairs who liked to play music until 4am in the morning. Not that that really bothered John, he was often awake until the early hours of the moring himself. But this place didn't feel like home at all, it felt as dead and empty as he did.

He shuffled across to the fridge, opened it and pulled out a bottle of beer, before returning to the living room and collapsing on the sofa. He flipped the cap off and took a deep swig, closing his eyes and laying his head against arm of the sofa.

Did he hallucinate earlier? Was it all in his head?

Of course it was. Sherlock died three years ago, and John didn't believe in ghosts. Why would it take three years for something to contact him? None of it made sense. Yet the voice seemed so real.

So real..

John took another swig, his mind playing the voice over and over again. He had always liked Sherlock's voice. It was deep, enchanting and dare he say it, sexy?

_Yes you should._

Those were the words. Were they merely his own thoughts talking? Perhaps it was some part of his brain telling him to get over it, move on, and live again? John sighed and pushed the words out of his head.

He was going mad, he knew it. He couldn't carry on like this any longer - something had to give.

Sighing again, he sat up and pulled his phone towards him. He listened as it rang a few times before a familiar voice answered.

"I need your help" he said quietly.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: Own nothing, as usual.

Sherlock paced the room of his hotel. Pretending to be dead was hard to say the least, for he had to change everything about himself. He had to change his name to _Alex Rawford, _wear different clothes and always have a hat on his head. He despised hats, he really did, but what could he do? His hair was noticable - and there was no way he was dying or cutting it. So, he opted for a hat: a boring baseball cap.

Still, it would be worth it once he got Moriarty's last man. Then, at long last, he would be able to return to London, to John. The thought pleased him, and depressed him. What would John say? Would he forgive him or tell him to piss off as many other people had done? John was his first friend, and he really hoped that the Doctor would understand why he did what he had to do. Surely John, being a smart - smartish - man, would realize why he did it?

A beep brought Sherlock out of his mind palace, and he hurried over to a small table where his phone lay, or, a phone lay. His proper phone was still on the roof of the hospital, and he could hardly go back and collect it.

He picked up the phone and opened the new message.

_I'm waiting._

Two words. Two words that he was waiting for, and now he had them. He picked up a hideous looking hoody and pulled it over his head, before fixing the cap on top. Glancing in the mirror he looked pleased at the result. He certainly _looked _the part. Now he hoped that Moriarty's last ally was as stupid as the rest of the them.

He walked over to his bed and lifted up the pillow, revealing a sleek black gun, which he quickly pocketed in the back of his jeans. If all went well, this time tomorrow he'd be back in London. He grabbed the door key and let himself out before quickly closing the door behind him.

Once he got outside he pulled his phone out and dialled a number. He wasn't used to calling a cab this way, but last time when he tried to hail one it drove straight past him. So now, he calls for one.

A moment later and a shabby black mondeo pulled up next to him. He got in and quickly gave the address before leaning back in his seat. The clothes were irritating him no end and he couldn't wait to be rid of them. His mind flicked back to John, and he really hoped that he was ok. He could still remember John's face that day three years ago. He wanted nothing more than to ring John the next day and tell him that he was still alive, but then that would defeat the whole point of jumping wouldn't it?

At least John was safe now.

* * *

A knock on the door jolted John awake. He looked around for a moment, confusion running through his head, before remembering what happened the day before. The knock sounded again, louder this time and John reached for his cane before stumbling towards the door.

He opened it slowly, his eyes narrowing at the visitor.

"What do you want?" he growled.

A moment later, and he was on the floor in pain. He heard a laugh, and slipped into blackness.

* * *

Sherlock arrived at the warehouse thirty minutes later. It was getting dark now and for once he wished he chose a more public place to do this. But then, if he was going to kill someone, he didn't need or want witnesses.

He checked that the gun was still in place and slowly made his way towards the door, his eyes scanning left and right to make sure no one was about. Something felt off but he couldn't put his finger on it. His phone beeped again causing him to jump slightly. He pulled it out and once again opened the message.

_I'm inside, what are you waiting for?_

Smirking, he pocketed his phone and pushed the door open. It was pitch black inside and Sherlock didn't like it. He really wished he had John behind him, he always felt safer with John by his side. Although he would never tell John that.

Suddenly the lights flicked on, revealing an almost empty room. In the middle of the room sat a chair, with something white on it. Sherlock pulled out the gun and held it tight in one hand, before moving towards the chair. As he got closer he realised that the white stuff was paper. He nearly laughed at how scared he really was.

He picked up the paper and unfolded it.

_Nice try.. _

_But come on, did you really think I was that easy to catch?_

_Moriarty warned you - and now you will pay._

_John first. Well, he always was special to you wasn't he?_

Panic coursed through him. John was in danger. He spun round and bolted for the door, whilst dialling the taxi number again. He let it ring once and then hung up. It would be too late. He dialled a different number and waited impatiently for it to be picked up.

"Mycroft Holmes, how can I help?"

"Mycroft, it's Sherlock. No - don't ask there isn't time. John, go find John, he's in danger" Sherlock said desperately.

"Find him and do what? Sherlock what's going on now? What happened that day?"

"There isn't time! Find John and check that he's ok, please Mycroft"

* * *

John woke up to find himself tied to a chair. His head was pounding and his vision still slightly blurred. He blinked several times, willing the world to come into focus again. Why was this even happening?

"Ah, you're awake"

John knew that voice, what he didn't know was why that voice was _here. _It was the last person that he expected to do something like this. He tried to turn his head, but still he couldn't see anything.

"Really John, this wasn't planned. But your blessed boyfriend won't leave things be. It's a shame, I didn't have a problem with you, just him."

"My boyfriend?" John croaked, since when did his throat hurt?

"Yes. Don't deny it. You two were always close. Everyone knew, I mean it was _obvious!" _the voice laughed.

"I have no idea what you're going on about, Anderson" John growled.

"Sherlock, of course" Anderson grinned.

"Wait.. what? You, you're on our side.. I'm so confused"

"I used to be on your side, John, until they bought Sherlock back."

John shook his head slightly, "You.. you were helping Moriarty?"

Anderson's grin widened, "Behind the scenes of course. I told Donovan that Sherlock was a fake, then she told Lestrade. It was perfect, they all fell for it."

"Why?"

"Why? Because Sherlock's a liar! he needed to be bought down a peg or two. He always insulted me, looked down on me and disrespected me!"

"Did Sherlock know about you?"

Anderson shook his head, still grinning. "No, he's off in Glasgow chasing nothing, and here I am. He doesn't know that it's me. Just wait till he finds out"

"Wait, Sherlock's alive?"


	3. Chapter 3

A/n: Thank you so much for all the alerts, faves and reviews. I'm glad you're liking it as much as I am. It's really fun to write :)

Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock.

"Yes, he's alive." Anderson smiled.

"But.. but I saw him fall, I _saw _it!"

Anderson knelt down in front of John, his eyebrows raised. He was still wearing a stupid grin, and John wanted nothing more than to wipe it off his face.

"He faked it. He's a faker, he faked his life and then faked his death. How can you still believe him, John?"

John shook his head, "he must of had a reason," he muttered.

"Believe what you want," Anderson said, standing up again, "but your boyfriend is in Glasgow, alive and well"

"He's not my boyfriend!"

"Really? It's obvious, John. Sherlock doesn't do friends, yet you come along and that all changes. He's sarcastic and disrespectful to pretty much everyone apart from you. You even live together. Come on, John, admit it"

"There's nothing to admit, he's just a .. close friend. Are you jealous of Sherlock, Anderson?" John asked, a slight smirk on his face.

"Jealous? Why would I be jealous?"

"Because, he's smarter than you," John said, "You don't like that, do you?"

Anderson walked over to a table, picked up a small bottle, and turned to John.

He held the bottle out so that John could see inside, "Do you know what this is?"

John didn't. All he could see was a black tablet sitting in the bottom of the bottle. Whatever it was, John didn't like the look of it.

"Your brain?" he said, whilst looking around. He had no idea where he was, and it unnerved him.

Anderson didn't smile, instead he unscrewed the top and tipped the tablet out into his hand.

"In China, they have designed a pill that can give you fake emotions. Happiness, pleasure, sadness, whatever pill you wanted to suit your mood. It's mainly for people who are depressed or emotionally imbalanced. It can help settle them, and lower suicide rates. However, they also designed one for love"

John cocked his eyebrow, "That's very interesting, Anderson. Are you going to make Donovan love you?"

This time Anderson did smile, "No. I'm going to make _you _love me" he said.

"What?"

"You may be in denial, John, but Sherlock _does _love you. In fact you're the only one he really cares about. That's why he faked his death, so that you were safe. Mrs Hudson and Lestrade too, but mainly you. Isn't that sweet?"

"I still don't get where this is going," John said, eyeing the pill with distaste.

"I'm going to hit Sherlock where it hurts. He's going to lose you, but not by death. There are worse things than death," Anderson laughed, "I'm going to make you love me and hate Sherlock"

John stared at him, unsure of what to say. This all seemed like some weird sort of nightmare.

"And do you know the best bit," Anderson said, "This pill will only give you opposite emotions. So if you do love Sherlock a lot then once you've taken this, you'll _hate_ Sherlock a lot. We will see how much you _really _like him. Isn't it great?"

"You're insane," John growled.

"Let's see how well Sherlock copes when the one person, who he's really close to, hates him and loves me! I will rip Sherlock apart, bit by bit"

"I won't take it"

"You will, even if I have to knock you out and force it down your throat. Then, I will let Sherlock act the hero and save you. Now who's smarter, me or him?"

* * *

Sherlock arrived in London a few hours later, and was straight on the phone to Molly.

"Molly, it's me. Have you seen John?" he said, whilst hailing a cab.

"Not since yesterday, why?" came the reply.

"He's in danger, can you go to his flat and check on him?"

Molly said that she would, and so Sherlock hung up, and dialled a different number.

"Mycroft? Any news?"

"Yes, you need to come here. Now" Mycroft replied, before hanging up.

* * *

"I'm still not taking it," John said, whilst trying to edge his chair backwards.

"No problem," Anderson smirked, putting on a pair of gloves and picking up a metal pole. He walked over to John, swung the pole and snorted as it hit John with a dull thud. He forced John's mouth open and slipped the pill inside before ditching the gloves and leaving the room.

* * *

"So, what's the news?" Sherlock said, looking at his brother.

They were currently sat in Mycroft's place, and Sherlock was getting impatient at how slow his brother was at telling him important stuff.

"Our CCTV picked up someone going into John's flat last night, we couldn't see who it was as they were wearing a hoody which hid their face."

"So what's happening now? Is anyone going to check on him?"

"Patience, Sherlock. I have already sent a message to Lestrade and his team. They are going there now." Mycroft said, whilst watching his younger brother carefully.

"Why haven't you gone?" Sherlock asked, returning his brothers look.

"John wouldn't want me there."

"Why not?"

For once, Mycroft looked slightly sheepish. "We had a - ah - disagreement before you - well you know."

Sherlock raised one eyebrow, "Disagreement about what? You and John never spoke much, or so I thought"

"It's nothing, dear brother. It can wait."

"Mycroft? It isn't nothing. The look on your face is giving you away, and you really don't want to lie to me. So come on, why did you and John have a disagreement, and what could be so bad that you refuse to see him three years later?"

Mycroft stood up and walked over to the window, his back to Sherlock.

"John found something out," he said quietly, "something about me - and you."

"Found what out? Mycroft?"

"Moriarty"

Sherlock jumped up, and walked over to his brother, watching him. "What about him?"

Mycroft avoided his gaze, his eyes fixed on something outside. "I told Moriarty - about you"

Sherlock grabbed Mycroft's shoulder and spun him round so that they were eye to eye. "You did what?"

"I'm sorry, I had to get him to talk." Mycroft said, bowing his head. "I regret it every day, Sherlock"

"That's why you're always watching me," Sherlock snarled, backing up. "You sold out your own brother, Mycroft!"

"Where are you going?"

"To see John," and without a backwards glance at Mycroft, he left.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Sorry for slow update. Work took all of my energy :(

Disclaimer: Still own nothing.

Warnings: Slight swearing, not much though.

Sherlock arrived at the flat twenty minutes later, only to find Anderson stood outside looking smug. He had hoped that Anderson would of buggered off by now, it had been three years after all. But no, there he was, arms crossed and a slight smirk upon his face. Sherlock could bet anything that Anderson had loved the past three years without him. Oh well, he was back now and things were going to change.

He glided over to the front door, pushing past everyone and only stopping when Lestrade stepped out of a room to his right.

"Sherlock?"

Sherlock smiled as Lestrade's face paled, and he opened his mouth to make a sarcastic response when he heard a slight moan coming from the room Lestrade had just left.

"John!" He pushed his way into the room and bent down next to the Doctor. "Are you ok? What happened?"

John stared at Sherlock for a moment, his eyes slowly getting wide before practically throwing himself backwards across the room. Sherlock glanced at Lestrade, who looked just as confused as he did, and then slowly made his way towards John.

"John, look I know it's a surprise seeing me.. alive.. but I can explain everything.." Sherlock said softly.

John glanced at Lestrade, a look of pure terror on his face, and continued to back away from Sherlock.

"Get him away from me! Why is he even here?" John croaked.

Sherlock turned to glare at Lestrade, "What's wrong with him?"

"I don't know, he was fine with us." Lestrade shrugged, looking uncomfortable.

"I don't want him here," John hissed, "Get him away from me! I want Anderson here, now"

Anderson chose that precise moment to walk into the room, that stupid smirk still on his face. Sherlock nearly blanched as John stood up and ran over to Anderson, burying his face in the gits neck. He rubbed his eyes and turned back to Lestrade, as though waiting for him to explain everything.

"I found him," Anderson said, "He was just coming round, and I stayed with him. Guess he knows who he can trust"

"Or that hit on the head _really _affected his brain," Sherlock snapped.

"How do you know he was hit? You've only just got here!" Lestrade asked, astounded.

Sherlock pointed at a metal pole lying on the floor to one side of the sofa. "Smells like blood in here. Also, flecks of blood in John's hair, it reflects slightly in the light. I bet if I went and checked that pole, it would also have droplets of blood on it."

"Maybe the attacker wiped it off?"

"Nah," Sherlock replied, trying not to look at John. "They were in a rush, like I said you can _smell _it. Fresh blood. No, this happened recently. As in the last few hours"

He turned to look at Anderson. Something was off about him, and he only just realised what it was.

"Why are you here?" he asked him.

Anderson gave Lestrade a quick look that said "he's finally lost it" before turning back to Sherlock.

"I - work - here," he said slowly. "I'm always here, remember? Cause you're always insulting me!"

"No," Sherlock muttered, looking around the room. "Why are you _here_? It's clearly your day off. You're not in uniform. So, why are you here?"

A flash of unease crossed Anderson's face, but he covered it up just as quickly, and tried to smirk again. John was still clinging onto him, and it disturbed Sherlock.

"Lestrade needed back up, I offered my services. I was in the area anyway. I was the one who found John remember?"

"Why were you in the area?"

"Well, I was err - visiting John." He turned to Lestrade, "Me and John are in a relationship, that's why I was here. I must of been a few blocks away when it happened, pity."

Sherlock snorted, "John wouldn't date you.. He does have some standards"

"What, like you?" Anderson grinned, "I saw how you looked at him, does it hurt knowing that he chose me over you?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Sherlock said quietly. His heart felt as though it was sinking, and his head was telling him to punch the annoying bastard.

"He moved on pretty quick - came to see me a few days after you jumped. Thanks by the way, you did me a big favour"

Sherlock's mind was going into overdrive. "That's not what other people said, they said that John wasn't coping well"

"They lied"

Lestrade was still standing awkwardly in the doorway, "Guys, we have more important things to think about at the moment," he said.

"Yeah, like finding out what's wrong with John," Sherlock said briskly.

"There's nothing wrong with him," Anderson sneered, "Just because he's finally woken up and come to his senses about what a weirdo you are doesn't mean there's anything wrong with him."

Sherlock wasn't sure how it happened or why he even did it, only that he found his hand making contact with Anderson's smug face. He smirked as the Sergeant fell back, letting go of John in the process, and hit the wall. Blood was dripping from his mouth, and he hastily wiped it away with one hand whilst looking at Sherlock with wide eyes.

"Look what he did," he gasped, "He's unhinged. A proper psychopath"

Sherlock grabbed the front of Anderson's clothes and pulled him close so that they were nose to nose.

"I will find out what's wrong with John, and if it has anything to do with you, Anderson, I will tear you apart, you hear me?"

He pushed Anderson away, and walked out of the room, not caring what Lestrade thought.


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock.

John watched Sherlock leave, whilst still clinging onto Anderson. As soon as Sherlock left the house, his head began to clear, and the past few minutes hit home. He had pushed Sherlock away, and ran to Anderson, who he was now holding on to. He pulled away, and stared up at Anderson, who was smirking at him. Lestrade stared at both of them in turn, before rolling his eyes and leaving the room.

"Phase one, complete," Anderson said, "Now time for phase two."

John glared at him, "What is phase two?"

"Lestrade."

John gaped at him.

"God, you're so stupid. How does Sherlock even like you?" Anderson sneered, "I'm going to make Lestrade hate Sherlock now."

"What? Are you going to knock him over the head too?"

Anderson laughed, "No. I work with him remember? He's my boss. I'm just going to slip the pill into his coffee. Sorted."

"Why? going to make him love you as well? You know, it's going to look suspicious soon."

"I'm just going to make Lestrade hate Sherlock, shouldn't be too hard to do. Then, finally Mrs Hudson."

John wiped his eyes with one hand, "I need to see Sherlock. Now."

"Good luck, as soon as you get within 20 metres of him, you'll begin to hate him again. That goes for phoning too, in case you wanted to try that as well."

John sighed, "When's this going to end? When Sherlock really does jump off a building? You want him dead, is that it?"

Anderson shut the door so that the others couldn't hear, "There are worse things than death, John."

"Why don't you just talk to him? Tell him how you feel?"

"I did, he just insults me. _You lower the IQ of the entire street, Anderson. Brilliant impression of an idiot, Anderson. Face the other way, Anderson, you're putting me off."_

John smirked, causing Anderson to narrow his eyes. "Yes, funny isn't it? You didn't stop him. Even Lestrade turned a blind eye."

"Going to destroy Lestrade too?" John asked.

"He'll be destroyed when Sherlock gets ripped apart. Especially when the pill wears off and he finds out it's partly his fault. He felt so guilty after Sherlock "jumped". He'll lose Sherlock again, as well as Mycroft."

"Mycroft?"

"Yeah, I heard they were dating," he made a noise of disgust, "Such bad taste in men."

"Lestrade's dating Mycroft?"

Anderson shrugged, "It doesn't matter. Now, leave me alone. I have stuff to do."

"So, this love stuff only works when I'm near Sherlock?"

"Yeah. God, I couldn't put up with you 24/7 like he does. Those few minutes were bad enough. Now piss off."

John left as quickly as possible. He headed outside, looking around for Lestrade as he went, and saw the DI stood next to a police car, notebook in hand.

He hurried over, and saw the DI look up. "John?"

He could just tell Lestrade about Anderson, about what he did and what he's planning to do, but would the DI believe him? And even if he did, how would they reverse the changes? What choice did he have though? He had to try.

"Anderson drugged me," he blurted out, "that's why I went crazy when Sherlock came in."

Lestrade watched him for a moment, his eyebrows raised, before chuckling. "Anderson? _Anderson? _The Anderson that can't even change a light bulb back at the station. _That _Anderson? Really John?"

"Well who do you think It was then?" John muttered angrily.

"We don't know, but don't worry. We'll catch them, John."

John growled, "He's in there! He's probably in there laughing at you, the smug bastard. Lestrade, are you REALLY that stupid?"

Lestrade stopped chuckling, a cold look crossing his face. "Call me that again, and I'll have you arrested."

"Why would I lie, Lestrade?" he said desperately.

"You're just confused. Maybe you have slight concussion, you did get hit pretty hard."

"Yeah, by Anderson!" John cried, "Lestrade, you know he hates Sherlock. Look how many times Sherlock insulted him. Don't you think he'd want revenge?"

Lestrade laughed, "I think you've been hanging around Sherlock too much, John. Life isn't a movie, not everyone wants revenge. Now, I have stuff to do, are you finished?"

John felt lost. He couldn't go near Sherlock without hating him again, yet he needed to let Sherlock know the truth. He played the conversation with Anderson over in his mind, and then felt himself smile.

"Lestrade, do you have Mycroft's number?"

"Why would I have Mycroft's number?" he said, looking uncomfortable.

"You're dating him, aren't you? That's what Anderson said." John smiled, watching in amusement as Lestrade slowly went crimson.

"I.. don't know what you mean -"

"Oh," John said, "So is Anderson lying? Hmm, because if he is, then why couldn't he lie about other stuff, hm?"

"Why do you need to talk to Mycroft?"

"Because, he owes Sherlock big time, and because he cares. Unlike you. Give me his number."

Lestrade stared at him for a second before pulling his phone out and handing it to John, "I do care about Sherlock," he muttered.

"Yet you don't believe me." he copied the number into his own phone, "Anderson is behind all of this, you know it deep down. You're just stupid. Sherlock was right, you look but you don't see." he passed the DI his phone and walked off.

* * *

Sherlock had spent the last few hours searching the internet. He was looking for an explanation, an explanation of why John was acting so strangely. He thought it was concussion, but even that wouldn't have him running into the arms of _Anderson. _He looked at different drugs; Cocaine, heroin, cannabis, but even they didn't change someone _that _much. He was stumped.

His phone buzzed, vibrating his pocket, and he pulled it out with annoyance.

"What?"

He listened to Mycroft talking before saying, "Tell him, message received."

Hanging up, he turned back to the screen, a small grin on his face.

He knew it. He _knew _it!

That bastard lied to his face and turned John against him.

This was war..


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: I'm actually gutted. I spent all day at work writing notes for this chapter, and then left the paper at work :( So I've had to rely on my memory. Grr. Also my boss is going to see my notes and be like "eh :S". Btw, the angst will be coming soon, and this story is only just beginning hehe.

Disclaimer: Still own nothing.

Warnings: Slight swearing, not much though.

Everything was slowly coming together. John told Mycroft all about the pills and what Anderson did to him, which Mycroft then relayed to Sherlock, and finally a plan had been formed between them. All three of them were working together, with Mycroft in the middle, as messenger. Mycroft gave Sherlock access to all of the secret files relating to next generation drugs in the hope that Sherlock could find a cure, and a plan of revenge.

John's part was to stay close to Anderson. Sherlock wanted him to trail the git 24/7, and he was happy to oblige. He also needed to stop Anderson giving Lestrade and Mrs Hudson the pills and generally keep an eye on the bastard. Sherlock was going to drop off the radar, and lull Anderson into a false sense of security. As soon as the cure was found, all three of them were going to pounce.

John was currently sat in a cab on his way to Scotland Yard. He really hoped this would work otherwise he'd have to resort to plan B which was their back up plan. There was also the question; what would happen to Anderson? They couldn't put him jail for he'd simply find a way out, with help of course. According to Mycroft, there were still more people in Moriarty's network out there, and that Anderson had taken over as head psychopath.

He reached the office and got out of the cab, his mouth suddenly dry. How was he going to act in love with Anderson? And in public too. He ran his hand over his back pocket, feeling the bulge from his gun. He still had plan B.

He made his way inside and headed towards Anderson's office, before slipping inside and sitting at the desk. He didn't know where the git was, but wasn't sorry at his absence. Instead he used the time to look around the office. Post it notes were stuck all over his desk but they didn't contain any important information.

John opened the drawers and shifted through more notes, before coming across a small bottle. Only one pill remained in the bottle and John felt his stomach drop. Mrs Hudson's pill remained which meant -

_I only need to slip it into his coffee._

John jumped up, and ran out of the office towards the cafeteria. He could feel the gun digging into his leg and hoped that he didn't need to use it today. Jail time wasn't what he wanted. He began to run faster before finally seeing the double doors that led to the cafeteria. He threw himself at them and found himself face to face with Donovan.

"Freak number two, what do you want?"

"Where's Anderson?"

Sally cocked an eyebrow, "Why?"

"I need to see him!"

"Why?"

John could feel the frustration building inside, "Cause I love him, and I can't stand to be away from - my baby." he coughed.

Sally gave him a weird look; half pity, half sympathy, "he's over there with Lestrade."

John looked at the far table and saw Anderson and Lestrade sat together, talking quietly. He took a deep breath, cursed Sherlock into oblivion, nodded at Sally and then made his way over to the table. Both looked up as he got nearer, with Anderson scowling slightly.

John cleared his throat, "Hey darling! I was looking for you," and he plonked himself on Anderson's lap, wrapping one arm around his neck.

"Mmm, coffee!" he grabbed the cup from Lestrade and downed it in one, nearly gagging in the process. He hated sugar in his coffee and he had a suspicion that Anderson slipped it in to hide the pills bitter taste. Sherlock owed him big time for this.

"John, what are you doing here?" Lestrade asked politely. John could tell that he didn't want him here, especially after their argument, but he'd thank him in the end. Hopefully.

"I've come to see what my baby is doing," John cooed, kissing Anderson on the cheek.

Lestrade snorted and Anderson closed his eyes, "John, I'm working."

John dropped his head, "So - so you don't want to see me? I came all this way as well."

He could feel Anderson squirm slightly beneath him and hoped that he couldn't feel the gun. "Lestrade needs me."

John looked up at Lestrade, his bottom lip stuck out in an attempt to look generally sad, and said, "You can spare him for a few moments, can't you?"

"Sure," Lestrade replied, giving him a funny look.

John stood up and dragged Anderson out of the room. The latter stopped just outside of the door, and pulled himself free from John's grip.

"What are you doing?"

John grinned, "I wanted to spend time with you, that's all."

"I told you to leave me alone except when Sherlock's around." Anderson snarled.

"Sherlock's gone."

Anderson stared at him, "Gone where?"

"I dunno, just left. I told him I hated him and he went - poof. Good eh, Ands. Just me and you now." John smiled.

"When did you talk to him?"

"The other day, on the phone. I wanted to ring him cause I didn't believe you, and well - you were right, and I told him to fuck off. What's the problem?"

Anderson was now pacing the hall, "Why did you drink that coffee? You knew what was inside."

"Thirsty," John shrugged, "Seeing you just made my stomach explode into butterflies." He was starting to enjoy this.

"This cannot be happening.."

"You know, Ands, I was thinking.. we should get a puppy.. Ya know, practice for later on?"

"Later on?"

John grinned, "yeah, when we have kids and stuff?"

Anderson was now giving him the dirtiest look possible, "I need to go. There's something I need to do."

"Like giving Mrs Hudson this?" John said, pulling out the bottle and waving it at Anderson.

"Give that to me, John."

"Tell me where you got them," John growled, "Tell me now."

"I said give it to me," Anderson growled back, "Or I swear to god, I'll kill you."

John pulled his gun out, pointed it at Anderson's leg and fired. He watched as Anderson fell to the floor, grabbing his leg in agony, and then he was off, running as fast as possible towards the exit, bottle in hand. Well, he was never good at sticking to plans.

* * *

Sherlock's phone went off at 1am in the morning. He looked away from his laptop where he currently had six different pages open, all showing Government files, and picked it up.

"Mycroft, you have news?"

"John has one of the pills, he's sending it over to me."

"What happened?"

He heard Mycroft laugh, "John shot Anderson in the leg and ran off. He's now wanted by Lestrade and half of Scotland Yard."

Sherlock sighed, "It was worth it though, we need to see what's in those pills."

"I'll send it over first thing tomorrow morning. John's going to stay with me. He's not safe alone."

"Ok.. thank you, I still haven't forgotten what you did but John's my main focus now and I do appreciate your help, brother."


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

A/n: Thanks for all the alerts, reviews etc. The actual Johnlock starts in this chapter :)

A week later and Sherlock received the call he was waiting for. He grabbed his coat, and made his way outside where Mycroft's sleek black car was waiting. The driver got out and opened the door for him, and he nodded in thanks before sliding in next to his brother.

"You have it?"

"Yes," Mycroft smiled, "I sent some of my men to China especially for you."

"And John?"

"Already given it to him, brother. When he wakes up he'll be back to normal. We must hurry though, for we need to speak to him before he comes around."

Sherlock leant back on his seat, a small smile on his face, and sighed.

"Thank you, Mycroft."

"No problem, it's the least I could do after - him." Mycroft said quietly.

They made their way back to Mycroft's place, and Sherlock felt himself growing nervous. Even if John was back to normal, would he still hate him? He did leave him alone for three years with no explanation. Sherlock knew what the doctors temper was like, and would be surprised if he didn't receive at least a punch to the face.

The car rolled to a stop, and the driver opened the door for Sherlock, who got out and looked up at the house in awe. Mycroft had a new place, and this one was twice - no three times the size of the last.

"Who are you trying to impress?" he said, turning to Mycroft.

"No one," Mycroft smirked, "Greg might be moving in, that's all."

"Too much information, come on," Sherlock muttered, making his way towards the door. He stopped to one side, and waited as Mycroft got out a set of keys and looked through them.

"Says the one who lives with John," Mycroft replied, finding the right key and twisting it in the lock. The door swung forward and Mycroft stepped back, allowing Sherlock to go in.

The house was cool inside, causing Sherlock to shiver slightly. He waited as Mycroft took off his coat, placed his umbrella to one side, and then followed him through the hallway, before stopping outside a wooden door.

Mycroft knocked lightly, and then turned the doorknob, pushing the door gently.

Lying upon a four poster bed was John. He was curled up in a small ball, and had the covers over him. Sherlock made his way across the room and sat on the edge of the bed. He watched as John snuffled slightly in his sleep, his face looking so peaceful and serene. Sherlock never knew how much he missed John until he saw him like this, looking so innocent and fragile. He saw that John had scars running across face and neck along with bruises and cuts. He knew Anderson did those things, and he made a promise to himself that he would pay the bastard back, but right now all he cared about was John.

As though reading his mind, John's eyes fluttered open and he gazed up at Sherlock.

* * *

John saw the black curls, the pale blue eyes, and waited for his head to become cloudy, and the hate to return - but it never came. He kept his eyes locked onto Sherlock, and when the only thing he felt was longing, he jumped up and lunged for him, wrapping his arms around the consulting detectives neck.

He heard Sherlock let out a gasp of surprise and felt him stumble back slightly, yet he didn't let go. The smell radiating off of Sherlock was intoxicating and John buried his face into his neck, sighing in happiness. He heard Mycroft clear his throat and pulled back slightly, looking at the eldest Holmes brother.

"It worked then?" he grinned, tightening his grip on Sherlock's neck.

"I think so," Mycroft smiled, "Unless you're slowly trying to kill my brother?"

John turned back to Sherlock, who was looking slightly confused, and chuckled, "Nope. Although I should - especially after all the crap he's put me through, but at the moment I'm just too happy to see him."

"John -" Sherlock started, but John cut him off with a look.

"Don't. I know what you're going to do. You're about to apologise over and over, I can tell by the look on your face. Just don't. You're alive, and I don't hate you, that's all that matters right now."

"But .."

"I hate you for doing all that, but I love you for being alive, and for saving me from Anderson."

"That was mostly Mycroft, but I'll take the credit if you want," Sherlock said quietly, "Still, I _am _sorry and I hated every minute of it."

"You two can make up later, we have work to do," Mycroft said, moving towards John, "John, you need to pretend you're still affected by that pill."

"Why?"

"Because he can't find out about this until we sort out a plan," Sherlock murmured, pulling John towards him again, "if he does, he will kill you."

"I don't understand."

"Anderson isn't like Moriarty. He doesn't enjoy killing innocent people. He only wants to hurt Sherlock, yet if he finds out about this he will kill you, Lestrade and Mrs Hudson."

John sighed, "Why though? What have we done?"

Sherlock snorted, "Because we've beaten him again, we found the cure. Think how angry he's going to be knowing that I have you back. He already hates you for stealing the pill. You're only safe because you're with Mycroft. He can't know about this."

"Yeah but, he's not going to want anything to do with me now. He said so himself that if I stole the pill he'd kill me. That was a week ago, and I've been in hiding ever since. I think it's too late to pretend I'm still in love with him."

"Sherlock," Mycroft sighed, "I think John's right. Anderson will know about this already. We need to re plan."

"Then what are we going to do? Mycroft, is Lestrade safe?" Sherlock said quickly, looking at Mycroft.

"I - I haven't heard from him.." he broke off, pulling out his phone and hastily dialling a number.

Sherlock and John stared at each other, a single thought going through their minds. Mrs Hudson.

"We need to go to her," John said, pulling away from Sherlock and grabbing his shoes.

"He's not answering," Mycroft sighed, biting his lip, "I have a bad feeling about this."


End file.
